


Somelnute

by youth_D



Category: Original Work
Genre: Party, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 20:15:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13302369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youth_D/pseuds/youth_D
Summary: Couple goes to backyard cookout, things go awry.





	Somelnute

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a weird dream.

Imagine, walking through to the front where all the people are, in a mass. Billy, Carla, the kid. It's 9:00 p.m, definitely past the kids bedtime, but he's clutching Carla's hand so hard and looking around with a childlike wonder at the whoops and hollers that make up a Sunday night kick off, bill almost doesn't mind him.

A masquito flies across Billy's face. Is this what I get for moving to Florida, he thinks.

The air is muggy and the clouds above are just opening up and pushing out the moon when the neighbor hosting this show, George, yells over as he sees their little pack cross the yard. "Ay, Billy boy, thought you wouldn't show up to see the celies get their ass kicked."

Bill forces a smile. No, this is what he gets. He responds In kind.

After awhile, bills talking stats with the guys, Carla's showing off her mango and perata dip to the girls, and the kid is playing in the sand by himself away from the other knee walkers. He's a weird one.

Soon, it's about an hour and a half later and the guys all crowd up the stairs to the patio on the second floor. It was agreed that they were gonna talk a little shit, play cards, then watch the game. Bill feels spectacularly fucked up, even though he knows he hasn't touched a drop of alcohol. He promised Carla. In fact, he's been feeling weird even before the party. Off somehow, if that even makes sense. Like, if he were out watching a movie of his life, but not participating further.

Maybe it was the fish he had when he took Carla out to the red lobster for their 6 month anniversary yesterday. Who fuckin knows.

The stars seem extra bright, the air feels like it's trying to choke him. He thinks he'll never get used to this fucking weather. He starts taking the steps two at a time.

John luciero from three blocks over stops at the front of the meat line, mutters under his breath. Something like shit. Now that the word is in his head, bill thinks it sorta smells like shit out here too.

The way the stairs to the patio are set up, it's facing opposite of the party. Wrapping around the two story from the back, isolated almost. It's probably 10:30 now and the clouds arent visible anymore from this angle. All bill hears are crickets. Fucking crickets.

He shoves his way to the front. "The fuck are you cunts standin around for, we're gonna-" and bill stops. He sees George's mother laying on the bend. Well, not mother. It looks like she crawled out of her skin and left it to air dry. Bill specifically remembers in that moment George saying his parents were still in Colorado, not due to come down till next year. He gulps, looking to George. The mans face is white.

Maggots are suddenly crawling on the carcass, on the banister, everywhere. It still smells like shit. The only word he can think of is grotesque. He doesn't think hes ever used the word before. The guys mumble their agreement. He mustve said that out loud.

"Fuck," bill retorts and shakes his head at the mess. He stumbles up the rest of steps, and for some reason the guys follow suit. The smell gets worse.

When they get inside, it's like someones pointed a spotlight at the door. Everything flashes white. He doesn't know if it's affecting anyone else. He winces, but tries not to react further. Luciero push up front again, hand over his eyes. Guess it is.

"What the fuck." Is all luciero says when their eyes adjust to the stark lighting. Probably all he can say.

Bill is really regretting coming to this thing.

George steps further into the room, too, apprehensive. There's a filthy mattress in the middle and there are these dark brown stains covering the walls and floor. Not to mention the overwhelming amount of maggots. Crawling on the walls, the floor. Stuffed between the sheets of the bed. Billy covers his nose. The stench is horrendous, to the point where he almost gags. He doesn't, though. He doesn't want to look like a pussy.

This blonde guy stumbles forward and trips, smacks into the bed. No one reacts, really. Bill curls his lip. The guy, Brad or Brendon, slowly rolls on to his back, eyes wide as he stares up at the ceiling, like he's seeing God. The rest of the guys move toward him. Or maybe toward the mattress. Who knows. Billy stays planted. His vision spins, slows, cuts. Like a reel. The walls seem to be dripping. Brown, rusty red ooze puddle onto the floor. The maggots wriggle around almost violently.

Next thing he knows they're all jumping on the bed, shoving each other, like kids. He's laughing, louder than he has before. They all are. Grown ass, 30 year old men, jumping up and down on a bed. Brad or Brendon is still down there, getting his face pummeled, but not making any attempt to stop it. Some guy stomps directly on the guys nose, breaking it.

Maggots start dropping from the ceiling. In their hair, clothes, mouths. No one give a shit; nothing stops. Bill sees a word formed on the wall through the frenzy of motion. Somelnute. He doesn't know what it means.

 

 


End file.
